The few whites he had ever known generally offered to pet him when they really wanted to kick him. Sheppard, with a laugh that cut the ears of those who listened to it like a razor,—"Do not despair! And who or what shall give me comfort when my son is gone? I have wept till my eyes are dry,—suffered till my heart is broken,—prayed till the voice of prayer is dumb,—and all of no avail. Peste, she had forgot the sword. ‘One does not blow off the head of a man with whom one is in love, en effet.
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